The Voldemort Diaries—Chapter 53 (Lessons)

December 15, 1980

"Oh, that is sooo not fair!" Bellatrix screeched. Automatically her wand whipped around and shot a hex at Dolohov, who diverted it fairly easily.

"You wanted me to be referee," Dolohov replied evenly. "The rules were no death hits and no curses while the opponent is down. You hexed Avery again after knocking him down, so he wins."

"I won!" she growled low in her throat, advancing on him like a lioness on her prey. "I don't care about your stupid rules!" She threw another two curses his way in quick succession, but they missed when he scrambled behind one of the large boulders in the field and cast one back at her, forcing her to defend herself.

In a split second the air was filled with spells of every color flashing back and forth between them, most to be turned aside, others to be dodged, both faces filled with grim determination mixed with the primal joy of battle. Avery, Sr. picked himself up of the ground and pulled his son with him to a crumbled section of the castle wall where they could watch in relative safety.

Dolohov sent a red spell streaking so close to Bella it singed the tip of her hair; she retaliated with a curse that blew apart a large section of the rock he was hiding behind, and another that nicked his arm with an accompanying roar of pain.

"You bitch!" he bellowed, flinging three hexes in a row. The first and second she blocked with a sneer on her lovely face; the third—a purple slash—came within a finger's width of taking her down. A slight look of shock washed the sneer away.

"Bitch, you say?" repeated Severus, smirking off to the side.

Furious as they were, they turned to glower at the newcomer who stood with arms crossed, gleefully observing the duel. Bella spat at Dolohov to show her disdain, then lowered her wand as she approached Severus.

"What do you want?"

"Charming as ever, Bellatrix," he drawled back. "Never fear, I guarantee I didn't come to visit you."

Like a light turned on in a darkened room, Bella's appearance changed abruptly. She sidled up to him smiling—which alone was enough to rouse alert flags—and said in a silky sweet tone that sent chills down his spine, "We're getting ready for a muggle hunt. Care to go with us?"

"Nooo," he answered warily, backing off, his self-preservation sensors shouting 'DANGER' at record levels. "I'd prefer to live another day, thank you."

Having ascertained that Bella had finished with her tantrum and was relatively harmless at the moment, Dolohov came over to join them, as did the Averys. He gave Snape a peculiar, insulted look. "Are you insinuating muggles could outfight us? Well, you maybe! Or is it that we're such bad aims we might miss and kill you?"

Using the most tactful manner he could muster, which sadly was only a notch above outright hostile, Severus said, "I'm not insinuating anything. I'm merely stating that Bella tends to be irrational and would use any excuse to get at me."

As if to prove him right, Bella threw a curse at him. Wand at ready, anticipating such an attack, he easily deflected it. "Case in point."

"Halfbreed!" she snarled.

"Lunatic!" he shot back. Keeping his wand up, he backed slowly toward the castle. "We could go on all night insulting each other, but as delightful as that sounds, I need to see the master." He was saved from another onslaught of curses, both verbal and magical, by the arrival of Rodolphus and Rabastan.

Apparently Bella had been awaiting them, and she glanced about curiously. "So where's blondie?" she demanded.

"Lucius isn't home," Rodolphus replied. "Off at work or something."

"Are you sure he wasn't hiding behind my sister?" she snickered.

Severus had frozen in place when he heard Lucius' name, his stomach lurching with revulsion though he maintained a straight face. "Lucius was going on this 'hunt' with you?"

Rabastan snorted half with laughter, half with contempt. "Right! Do you see him? Bella insisted we go invite him so she could crow over his refusal. He'll wish muggles dead, but he won't get off his arse and do it himself, as you see." He gestured at the open air around him.

Severus grunted noncommittally, more relieved than he cared to admit. For the briefest moment he'd actually considered the possibility that Lucius had fallen wholly into the depths of Death Eater depravity, and the thought shamed him now. While Lucius was definitely no paragon of virtue regarding the treatment of muggles, he was no murderer. By necessity a liar and a manipulator, even occasionally a tormentor, but not a murderer.

He resumed walking toward the castle with Bella's voice in his ears, "Sure you don't want to join us, Snape? I promise not to kill you on purpose." Visualizing her sneering as she spoke, he ignored her and kept going, resisting the urge to tell her to sod off. That would only cause another confrontation he really didn't want to get into right now.

Bella's snarky attitude was nothing new, he expected nothing less from her; finding Lord Voldemort in the castle kitchenette wearing a high-collared, furry blue robe and eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon—that he had not anticipated. Severus drew up sharply, forgetting to shield the shock on his face.

"M-my lord," Snape stammered, his mind going blank. He ought to be doing something, what was it? Oh, yes! He dropped to his knees on the cold floor.

Voldemort waved the spoon in a circle with a twist of his wrist. "Rise." It sounded rather muffled through the gob of peanut butter.

Thirty seconds of extreme awkwardness passed by in what seemed hours, what with the dark lord swirling the food in his mouth with loud smacking sounds that made Severus cringe. Merlin's Beard, does he always eat with his mouth open? Severus regained control, forcing his features into obedience. He would not wrinkle his nose with distaste no matter how appalling the scene became. He was a Death Eater, he was stronger than that!

"Have you a problem with my wardrobe, Severus?" asked Voldemort with an icy edged tone as he finally noticed Snape gawking at him.

"No, master, I-I just have never seen you in anything except black." And not fuzzy with a belt tied in a bow at the front. He was honestly afraid to look down lest he see a pair of bunny slippers poking out from under the table. Death Eater and spy or not, he wasn't sure he could take that with a straight face. Before he considered that it might be inappropriate to comment on it he blurted, "And I don't believe I've ever seen you eat before."

Voldemort's lips twisted upward. "What do you think, Severus? That I am capable of surviving without food? I'm flattered at the abilities you ascribe to me."

Shut up, Snape! So help me, I'll kill you myself if you open your trap with another lame, ridiculous remark, his brain warned him. And it wasn't kidding. "My lord, I have news. The teaching post at Hogwarts—Defense Against the Dark Arts—will be vacated at the end of the year. Again. It's almost as if the position were cursed, the way it runs through professors."

"Indeed," grimaced the dark lord. Satisfaction shone through his apparent nonchalance. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?"

"Yes, my lord. I thought perhaps you'd like to send a spy to take the job so—" That was as far as he got.

The evil wizard shushed him with a raised hand, his red eyes dancing with the joy of finding a perfect opportunity to torment one of his underlings with cause. Ordinarily he took out his frustrations and anger on his men, which was only proper, but this—this was training a Death Eater to be better than he was. He felt almost like a schoolmaster preparing to instruct using the simple pattern he'd set for himself long ago.

1) Remind the Death Eater of his past failures/transgressions.

2) Elicit copious amounts of apologies and pleading, if possible reducing the man to tears. That always made his day.

3) Demand better service in the future, accompanied by physical reminders to perform better—again, reducing to tears being the primary objective, with agonized suffering merely incidental, albeit savored.

"I sent you for that job last year, did I not, Severus?" Step one commencing.

"Yes, my lord." Snape hung his head. How he hated this game the dark lord played! He couldn't believe none of the others had pieced together the obvious sequence. Or perhaps they had but dared not mention it.

"You failed to acquire the position." Step one complete.

Damn it, he's finished step one already! "There were extenuating circumstances, master, and I did bring you the prophecy," he said softly, waiting for the first curse to be hurled at him, while hoping for the best.

Voldemort paused, vaguely disconcerted. This wasn't how it was supposed to go! Snape should be on his knees groveling and begging forgiveness, not throwing in his face an accomplishment! On general principles he slung a crucio at him. Now that was better; he may not be groveling, but at least he was crying. With a glint of triumph in his eye he lifted his wand.

"I'm sorry for my insolence," Severus panted in a croak. Why had he thought that responding differently would change the game? Nothing ever changed the game. "It won't happen again."

Good enough, Voldemort supposed. Step two complete. Not as gratifying as he'd like, but it would do. "Because I am merciful, I will give you another chance to demonstrate your worth to me. You will apply for this position again, and this time you will not fail, is that understood?"

"Perfectly clear, my lord."

Voldemort smiled inwardly, pleased to see how well his method was working. He really did have a knack for teaching, didn't he? His disciplinary techniques worked far better than those ineffectual detentions used at Hogwarts! Damned Dumbledore missed out when he denied the greatest wizard of all time the job, that's for sure!

"So you don't slip again in your duty, I must give you a taste of what awaits you if you fall short again." He raised the wand, Severus squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, and another crucio sent him howling onto his back.

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December 15, 2000

December 15, 1980

Severus came to me with excellent news. The Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts is opening up again. No great surprise, of course, since I hexed the post years ago. I'm actually rather astonished Dumbledore hasn't even tried to figure out the curse and reverse it. Or perhaps he has, and is simply not as clever as I give him credit for. I am the better wizard, after all.

I'd almost forgotten that I applied myself at one time—or tried to, but Dumbledore in all his arrogant glory refused me the chance to prove myself. Not that I should have to prove myself to anyone, but human nature being what it is, they all need a show of my might. Hence the need to use the Cruciatus on Snape today, to teach him a lesson. I really am an excellent educator! When I set my mind to it and use the established methods, I see results. If that isn't bloody good instructing, I don't know what is.

Severus rolled his eyes as he gazed involuntarily up at Dumbledore's portrait. For all intents and purposes, this day had begun his teaching career at Hogwarts, for better or worse. He had yet to decide which. No, that wasn't true. It had eventually proven for the best, only because he'd met Aline here. Only. The word made him shake his head and smile wryly. She was only the best thing ever to happen to him, the one person who knew him intimately, in every imaginable way, and loved him anyway. He supposed he ought to thank Dumbledore for that…ought to. Didn't mean he was going to.

And seriously. The dark lord thought himself a wonderful instructor? If crucio'ing your students to tears constituted good, Voldemort was Teacher of the Century. Hell, Snape had been a professor here for twenty years, and he still didn't think of himself as a good teacher. Yes, he knew the material inside and out; yes, he could verbalize and demonstrate the necessary details…but when it came to the braindead cretins he was supposed to shovel the information into, the link was broken. There was only so much a mortal man could do. Then again, he was a tad more constrained than the dark lord had been, what with not being allowed to use torture and all.

He didn't need to scan the entry again, the vision remained as vivid as ever. He recalled that day, mainly for the torture, but also for the fear he'd felt at thinking Lucius had sunk to the lowest level. As for Rabastan and Rodolphus…how times had changed. He'd known them to be enthusiastic partakers in the murder department, and of late things had turned on their heads. He wasn't altogether sure how committed Dolph was to the transformation, but he sensed in Rabastan—Jorab—a tremendous difference. He truly was not the same man he'd been all those years ago. Definitely for the better.

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December 15, 2000

"Twelve thousand galleons! That's highway robbery, no matter how you slice it," Lucius fumed, sounding decidedly indignant to the witch on the other side of his study door. There was a short pause, then, "Oh…twelve thousand pounds does sound much more reasonable. I can hardly be blamed for the confusion, after all. Must we use muggle-speak?"

Narcissa craned her neck to lay her ear against the door. If he were in there with a client or one of his attorneys, she hated to interrupt. She raised a balled fist to knock.

"Well we don't live in the muggle world, do we?" Lucius asked snidely.

Who the hell was he talking to and why wasn't this person answering at a level which she could hear? If she got any closer to the door, she'd be fully plastered against it.

"I trust your judgment, Romulus. If you think it wise as an investment, do whatever is necessary to procure it." A second later the door was flung open and Lucius stood half-frowning, half-smirking at his wife caught in such a compromising position. "I'll call you back." He pocketed the little black mobile phone and crossed his arms as if to ask for an explanation.

Narcissa righted herself, smiling sheepishly. "Hello, dear. I was going to ask if you wanted to take the children to the park."

"In mid-December, my love?" cooed Lucius, that self-satisfied smile never leaving his face. "If I did, you'd surely warn me of the dire circumstances wherein our children would catch pneumonia."

"It's a pleasant December," she shot back, flushing. Alright, he'd caught her—though how he'd known she was there remained a mystery. She didn't exactly clomp about like an elephant. All that notwithstanding, she had to know! "Who were you talking to? Was that your mobile foam?"

"Phone, dear," he corrected her, his smirk turning to a chuckle. As much as he adored her for the sophisticated, strong woman she was, she was so sexy when she was innocent! "I was speaking with Romulus Young about a new property—a muggle property. Don't wrinkle your nose like that! Getting in on the ground floor of a new project is the best way to make a bundle."

"Can I do it?"

"Do what? Negotiate in the real estate market?"

"No! May I talk on your phone." She drew out the 'n' sound to make certain he didn't tease her about it later. Not that it was any kind of guarantee, mind. Lucius did take perverse pleasure out of proving her less able to maneuver about the muggle world than he was. Without waiting for his answer, she extended her hand, palm up, and waited.

Lucius heaved a disgruntled sigh. "Do you remember how?" He took the phone from his trousers pocket and flipped the top open. He had very few people he communicated with on this muggle contraption, so he hadn't thought it worth his while to try figuring out how to save contact numbers. "Here. Press the numbers I write down for you." He scrawled a hurried note on a bit of parchment and passed it to her.

She snatched it from his palm, studied the key pad, and dutifully pressed each digit, squealing with surprise at the beeps emanating from it, and when it began to ring, her eyes grew round as tomatoes. "It's making a funny sound!"

"Hello, Lucius," said the voice through the earpiece, giving her a jolt although she'd been semi-aware of what to expect.

"Hold it close to your ear, Narcissa," Lucius advised, even as he took her arm and guided it to her face.

"Um…this is Narcissa Black Malfoy," she said hesitantly, abruptly at a loss as to what to say. She felt like a fool talking to a man not even in the same house, let alone anywhere near her. It seemed as though she were babbling into open air, to herself at best. "Hello, Romulus. How very peculiar to hear your disembodied voice."

"Narcissa!" Apparently surprise ran both ways, for Romulus seemed downright shocked. "I wasn't expecting you."

The witch, picking up on his astonishment at the knowledge that Lucius had shared this plaything with her, couldn't resist a giggle. "Hi, it's me. I never used one of these muggle things before."

"It's quite an invention, isn't it? Pity the wizarding world is so resistant to devices that would make our lives simpler," said Romulus.

"Indeed. I suppose it is a pity. Why, Lucius never even lets me play with his toy—I mean this toy, not his…um…you know—"

At this point Lucius wrestled the phone from her hand, his face flaming right along with hers. Hearing his associate snickering on the other end didn't buoy his confidence. "Forgive my wife, Romulus, she isn't quite herself just now."

"I want one," Narcissa announced loudly, poking her husband in the ribs. No explanation was necessary, he knew all too well of what she spoke.

Lucius nodded curtly as he mumbled something into the mouthpiece, then said to her, "For Christmas. I'll get you one for Christmas, alright? A beautiful one to match your exquisite style. Now may I please get back to work, darling?"

"Of course, love." Smiling broadly, she flounced across the room, swinging her hips as her skirt swayed suggestively. A quick look backward at his enthralled, appreciative gaze told her he'd suddenly lost interest in the phone call. Pursing her lips, she blew him a kiss and minced from the room. She was getting a wonderful present for Christmas. Too bad she'd have to hide it from everyone, including Draco. At least she could call Lucius when he was away…or she was away. Whatever. She was getting a magnificent gift for Christmas!

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When Winky apparated into Spinner's End, she immediately hunched and did a full circle turn in anticipation of attack from that jackal elf, Kreacher. He was nowhere in sight, but that didn't mean anything. Probably hiding somewhere, sneaking about like a leprous old…hiding elf…thing. Stinky, hiding elf. It didn't matter, she wasn't here to see him, and if she was lucky, he'd be at Grimmauld Place tending to the master he truly deserved, that arsehole Sirius. She felt completely at ease thinking of Black in such terms, for she'd heard Master Snape use it frequently. In fact, for a long time she'd thought it was all one word, thatarseholesirius.

A grimace tugged at the corner of her mouth, and her bug-eyes narrowed a touch. She needed to see Master Regulus, but she dared not call out in the event of…well, the aforementioned stinky Kreacher. Padding softly across the floor, she peeked into the kitchen, which was empty. Not in the living room, either. Before bothering to go upstairs, she'd check the entire lower level. She was nothing if not a thorough elf, one of her proud traits.

She treaded lightly down the hall and into the spare bedroom, which was also unoccupied, not to her surprise. Furrowing her brow and pressing her lips together, she placed her hands on her hips. What was that noise? Very familiar…water splashing. Then the toilet in the bathroom downstairs flushed. Ah, he was in the loo!

Trotting out of the room, she made a beeline for the loo. The door was open, so she naturally assumed Regulus was done with whatever business he'd been attending to. At the doorway, she came to a screeching halt—literally, she screeched as she halted. Master Regulus was not there, it was her worst nightmare…well, perhaps not her worst nightmare, but definitely in the top five.

Kreacher looked up in alarm, then his surly countenance settled back to its normal churlish expression. Still stooping over the toilet, brush in hand, he sneered, "What is Finky doing in my master's house?"

"I is Winky, stupid Kreacher," she corrected, adjusting the bow on her bald head. "And is not Master Regulus' house, is Master Snape's!" She pulled a face at him as he glared. He could hardly argue with the truth of it. "Mistress Snape sends Winky for Master Regulus."

"Good Master Regulus isn't home," croaked Kreacher. He brandished the toilet brush menacingly. "Maybe Finky elf comes to see Kreacher because Kreacher is her fantasy."

"Kreacher is insane even by house elf standards," she sniffed huffily.

"Insane am I?" Kreacher repeated, grinning evilly. He dropped the toilet brush into its holder, then lurched forward, grabbed the female elf on either side of her head with his enormous hands, and pulled her in for a hard kiss on the lips. "There!"

"Aaaargh!" screamed Winky, flailing her arms helplessly until he let go, at which point she glanced around in a panic, hyperventilating, and suddenly threw herself onto the floor to dunk her head into the toilet bowl. Dunk, scream, dunk, scream.

Chuckling over her, Kreacher said, "Now who looks mad, Finky?"

That did it. She'd come on an errand for her mistress, she'd not come to be insulted and humiliated by having such repugnant lips touch her own. Winky's spine tightened, and slowly she stood up to her full height, her head and face dripping water onto her pale pink pillowcase and the clean floor. A growl emanated from the back of her throat. "Winky!" Decidedly strong hands seized Kreacher by the back of the neck in an iron grip, and she plunged his face into the toilet repeatedly as she shouted, "Winky, Winky, Winky!"

From the doorway, having overheard the commotion from upstairs, Regulus observed the elf fight with curiosity and a little fear. If it weren't for the fact that he considered all house elves a little psychotic, he'd think Winky was a bit off. Gradually he backed up, almost in slow motion, trying not to be spotted. To no avail.

Winky lifted her eyes to see Black standing there. Instantly she let go of Kreacher, who fell headlong into the toilet, then pushed himself away from the toilet bowl to land with a thump on his rump, sputtering and gasping for air. "Master Regulus, you is here!" She skipped over to him, seemingly forgetting her nemesis.

"Hello, Winky. What brings you here…or are you here to kill Kreacher? Because I really need him." The glance he shot Kreacher surreptitiously asked if he were okay. Kreacher scowled and popped out of the room, and Reg could hear the rattling of pots in the kitchen. It was a good sign that he wasn't upset with his master, only with the horrid little she-elf.

"Mistress Snape sends me for you," explained Winky blithely. "She is needing some potions from the cellar. She asks Winky to have Master Regulus fetch them for Winky." She produced a list from a non-existent pocket of her pillowcase and handed it to the wizard.

Regulus scanned the list and nodded. "I know where Snape keeps the potions down there. I'll be a few minutes." He headed for the cellar door, only to find the elf on his heels. "Or you could come with me."

With the wizard's wand lighting the way, they proceeded down the steps, and Reg turned to the right, into a small alcove lined with wooden shelves, upon which were set dozens and dozens of dusty vials and bottles and even jugs of various brews. He blew gently on the labels, comparing the names to those on the list, every now and again removing one and handing it to the elf. When Winky had fulfilled her duty, she politely thanked Regulus and, her treasure firmly folded in her arms, apparated out of the house from the cellar lest she have to see malevolent Kreacher again.

Reg plodded up the stairs and stopped in place, moaning and scowling at once. "What the—? Why are you here?" Damn it, he'd been in a good mood!

"Smells good in here. I take it Kreacher is cooking," said Sirius.

"Piss off, Sirius."

Sirius rolled his eyes and swaggered into the living room to plop on the sofa. "I can't believe you're still mad. It's been over a week. Is that why you didn't come home from Bulgaria till yesterday?"

"Who told you I was home?" asked Reg, cocking his head.

Sirius grinned. "Who do you think? Kreacher."

"He made me tell, Good Master Regulus," pleaded the old elf even as he threw himself onto the floor, wailing and pounding his head on the slats. "Evil master makes Kreacher tell."

"Kreacher, stop it now! I will not have you punishing yourself," ordered Regulus. The elf stopped and looked up at his master with watery red eyes. A large bruise now adorned his forehead. "I don't blame you, I'm not cross with you. Please go finish supper."

Kreacher slumped out of the room and into the kitchen. Sirius shook his head in disgust. "Stupid elf. Look, Reg, maybe I shouldn't have kicked you, but you're being a baby about it. Why can't you just get over it?"

"Get over it? That's your answer to everything, isn't it? Ever since we were kids, every time you do something to me, I'm supposed to forgive and forget." He walked over to stand in front of his brother and stare him down as he ranted, "Why can't I get over it? Because you're a selfish bastard, that's why! You don't care if you get me killed, as long as you get the glory of the hunt!"

"Bullshit," answered Sirius. "You're too good of a flier to crash or fall from a little buffeting. We both know it."

"I notice you don't deny wanting to snatch the egg yourself. Or were you trying to help your godson along, as if he needs any more fame." Reg actually felt bad for the last line. Harry hadn't done anything to him, and he had no beef with him, nor did he think Harry was complicit in Sirius' antics. But he was angry and upset, and as such the words tended to roll from his tongue unchecked.

To his amazement, Sirius admitted, "I was trying to get it myself." Was it Reg's imagination, or did the older man look ashamed? No…had to be his imagination. Sirius never felt bad for anything he did.

"So it didn't matter that Charlie told you to cover Draco, right? Our own cousin, in case you forgot. What if he'd been in trouble? You wouldn't have been there to help him!" Regulus fought the impulse to kick Sirius in the leg. "Then again, he's just a Slytherin, it doesn't matter what happens to them."

"Stop it, Reg. Now you're being melodramatic. I might not be all touchy-feely about Malfoy, but I'm not gonna let him get killed."

"How could you have stopped it? You weren't there, you were busy pushing me out of the way, remember?" Regulus fixed him with a piercing glare.

"I'm sorry."

"You're pitiful is what you are. Self-centered and pitiful. You jump all over me for every flaw, but at least my faults are only hurting me." He turned and started to walk away. "I don't wanna talk to you anymore. Get out."

"Reg, come on. Just listen," cajoled his brother, rising from his seat to follow.

At dizzying speed, Regulus whirled on the other wizard, eyes aflame, fists clenched. "Listen to what? Pathetic excuses? Sorry, heard about all I can take of those."

He stomped to the door, wrenched it open, and waited. When Sirius refused to go along peacefully, he snapped. In a heartbeat he was on his brother, and in a scene reminiscent of their childhood, he was dragging Sirius bodily to the door as the latter resisted, clawing at the furniture and finally bracing himself in the doorway with outstretched arms. In a fit of fury precipitated not only by the most recent slight of his brother, but by a compilation over the years, Reg hauled off and punched Sirius in the ribs. Sirius spun round, automatically striking back, and hit Reg in the chin. Regulus stumbled, righted himself, and charged with his head to the other's stomach. It took them both down in the doorway, half in and half out, Reg landing on top, where he sat astride Sirius pummeling him furiously. Sirius made no effort at this point to defend himself.

At last Reg forced himself to get up and walk away, panting from exertion and ire. "Why won't you fight back?" he demanded.

"Because I deserve it," Sirius muttered, struggling to a seated position and wiping at the blood coming from nose and mouth and a cut over his eye. "Did it make you feel better?"

"Yeah…no…I don't know," he answered, shrugging and shaking his head. He honestly didn't know how he felt right now. "Just go, Sirius. Please."

Sirius got to his feet. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and turned to the door. When he'd crossed the threshold, he stopped and attempted once more to say something, then merely wagged his head and staggered out.

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Draco adjusted the leather sling over his shoulder, sliding it to fit comfortably across the chest while hanging down to his waist, and gently laid the new baby inside, where she nestled in and looked up at him with a cheep. Several days ago Bori had constructed the sling from dragon hide (to prevent the baby accidentally burning it or them), and Draco, Bori, and Oksana had been taking turns carrying the dragonette with them to keep her warm and safe. Only a moment ago he'd finished feeding her mangled remnants of meat that he'd pounded to mush and mixed with meat tenderizer to simulate the regurgitated food her mother would have fed her.

"You are a gorgeous little darling, aren't you?" he cooed at her, and she fluttered her wings in answer. A faint image—more like a feeling—teased the corner of his mind. He was so close to having a connection with this dragon; perhaps she was simply too young to have any complicated thoughts yet.

From around the corner he heard a snuffling in the dirt, and Dragomir came trotting into sight. He stopped in place upon spying the man and dragonette, and came waddling up for a look. With the thoroughness only one of his own kind was capable of, he peered into the sling, nosed the baby, and sniffed her at great length. Draco had to wonder what kind of information he acquired by it. Once or twice Dragomir's tongue flicked out to lick her.

Draco found it rather amusing that Dragomir had never seen a baby, and couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that there existed one smaller than himself…smaller, weaker, punier. Yes, that was the sensation he'd been getting from Drago—pity! He felt sorry for this pathetic creature that wasn't even able to walk on its own, let alone fly. Draco hoped this feeling of pity wouldn't turn to jealousy later as the baby continued to receive loads of attention.

Just thinking it made him ashamed all over again of how he'd acted when baby Ladon was born. He'd been such an arse, jealous and stupid. But he loved Ladon with all his heart, as he hoped Dragomir would come to love Sineglazka. Blue-eyed girl. He'd thought it very appropriate when Oksana proposed it.

"Draco, there you are." Oksana rounded the corner and smiled at the sight before her. "Did she eat well?"

"Like a starving wolf," he chuckled, and Sineglazka cheeped loudly. "I guess it's your turn to mind the chick."

She nodded even as she accepted the sling he took off himself and placed over her shoulder, careful of the baby cradled within. She looked down at the bundle with the love a mother gives her child. "Is this what it is like to have a child, I wonder?"

"Sort of," Draco said. Oksana's head jerked up toward him, her gaze inquisitive. He laughed. "I have a baby brother and sister. They're a lot younger than me, so I'm practically like a father to them when I go home. They follow me around and want to be held all the time, and I have to change nappies and feed them."

"They sound sweet."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "They are. I miss them." He absentmindedly petted Dragomir, who'd begun rubbing up against his legs. "I was thinking of going home for a visit—for Christmas, but now that Sineglazka is here, I hate to leave her."

"Bori and I will take good care of her," Oksana said. She'd been stroking the dragonette's head, and it had fallen asleep. "I think you want to see your girl, no?"

Draco's cheeks tinged pink. "I miss Astoria, too. I'll talk to Bori about it." He started off toward the cabin with Dragomir, who cast a wistful glance back at Oksana as if torn between who he should stay with.

"Draco, Bori is in the north field where they are training a dragon." She stood staring at him, hesitant to say anymore, yet evidently needing to. He turned to veer off in the opposite direction when she blurted, "Tell him my heart is ready."

"Uh…what?" Draco stammered, halting. "I can't tell him that! He'll think I'm a fruit."

She laughed lightly. "He will know what it means."

Draco took a single pace in toward her, his head cocked. "Do you love him?"

It was her turn to blush, and she lowered her head so her blond hair cascaded forward, covering her face. "What do you think?"

"I think you'd better invite me to the wedding," said Draco, grinning.